


The Pressure is All in your Head

by Anonymous



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Happy, Psychological Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Donald is fourteen when he and his sister help their Uncle seal away Magica De Spell.





	The Pressure is All in your Head

**Author's Note:**

> ya w/e

Audubon bay Is frozen, almost, chunks of broken and razor sharp ice floating in the water. There’s snow on the beach, a thick stripe of sand visible where the water meets the shoreline, ice crack like gunshots under his feet as he walks right along the water's edge. His winter boots are thick, with heavy soles that leave perfect imprints on the frozen and wet sand. Ice bites at his beak and each panicked breath he shudders out fogs the air in front of him, every inhale like a sharp punch to the chest with how bitterly cold the air is.

He’s got his coat on, the one he rarely ever wears except for when snow storms are on the horizon- it’s got a fur lined hood and deep pockets, and he’d bought it on a whim for his thirteenth birthday. It was a miracle it still fit, even if it exposed just slightly too much of his wrists to the elements. He can’t stop walking, possessed by some other worldly force, legs relentlessly trudging on no matter how badly he wanted to turn back and go back to his Uncle and his Sister who he’d abandoned at the dock.

Uncle Scrooge had yelled after him, but Donald couldn’t speak to tell him he wasn’t trying to storm off and that he’d been gripped by a force that was dragging him across the beach against his will.

**Tell me, brat,** Magica De Spell hissed inside of his mind, her black hearted and inky spirit spreading across his limbs like oil and bleach, burning and slick underneath his skin, **How long can you hold your breath?**

He comes to a stop, suddenly, facing the water. With each push and pull of the tide, the cracked and broken ice on the surface of the water slides and cracks against one another. He picks up one foot and places it where the waves lap at the shore and Donald feels his heart seize- but Magica doesn’t stop, and with mechanical movements he raises his foot and plunges it back into the water. Chill begins to creep in the cracks between his boots until she stomps deep enough that water brims over the top of his boots and begins to soak his socks.

She keeps marching him deeper even as he fights her for a sense of control, trying desperately to take back his body- the water is up to his thighs now, sharp chunks of ice scraping his skin as he wades deeper and deeper, soaking the feathers on his hips, chilling his hands to the bone in an instant. Already he’s lost feeling in his toes, and he’s shivering so hard he can't quite see straight, and his tears are stinging and freezing at the corner of his eye.

He makes his fingers twitch but it’s not enough, because he’s up to his chest now and the water is dragging all the warmth out of his body bit by bit, and it's like someone’s raking ice cold fingers down his spine, stripping him of any warmth he had or would ever had again, like all the blood in his body is turning to slush in his veins and it was only a matter of time before his heart turned into an iceberg and his blood froze solid. He made his fingers twitch-but still, he trekked even deeper into the bay, half melted ice dragging along the bottom of his beak.

“I don’t want to die.” He chokes out, a whimper, and his body hesitates.

There’s a moment of indecision before his head is suddenly submerged and then, like that, his body is his own again- and he kicks hard against the sandy floor, surfacing with a splash and a horrible noise, like a wounded animal. His arms and hands are so cold he can barely find the strength to swim back to shore, dragging himself onto the bank on his hands and knees, hacking up water and shivering and shaking so badly he can hardly keep himself upright.

**You’re lucky I don’t want to die either**, she says, but he can’t hear her over the black spots he’s fighting to keep out of his vision. The wind blows and he curls up on the sand, hugging himself around his stomach and just breathing. Shakily, once he gets his bearings back, he strips out of his wet jacket and his boots and leaves them on the bank, stumbling almost blindly through the snow. The sun is setting, and no ones out anymore- when he gets back to the dock, his uncle and his sister are gone.

Their boat is still there and, with numb fingers, he holds onto the bow as he climbs back in to get his suit case. He’s got emergency cash and a pair of clothes that he gratefully changes into, and then he collapses into the small breakfast area of Uncle Scrooge's private boat and rests, just for a moment. Shakily he goes for the emergency satellite phone, fully intending on calling his Uncle and explaining the circumstances-

**Have you forgotten what I said?** Magica hisses sharply, in the back of his head, **I may not want to die, but if you tell your Uncle and he decides to exorcise me, then I am going to take you down with me** She promises.

He hesitates before picking up the phone anyway, calling a cab to come take him home. The sun had finally gone down, and he was too afraid to walk in the dark alone.

He gets home and all the lights are off. He takes a shower in the dark and sits under the hot water until he stops shivering, and then he puts on the thickest pajamas he owns and piles on several blankets and doesn’t sleep at all.

* * *

He tears his room apart, she forces him to.

**Where’s my staff. Give me my staff and I'll be free.**

**Don’t you want this to be over? I need my staff and this will be over.**

**I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you if you don't find my staff i’ll kill us both I’LL KILL US BOTH I WON’T BE TRAPPED LIKE THIS I’LL KILL US BOTH**

It's a bluff.

* * *

“Good job Donald,” Uncle Scrooge says, smiling.

**He doesn’t mean it, why would he say that to someone like you?**

“You finally did something right!” Della teases, elbowing him just slightly too hard.

**Everyone thinks you’re a failure and they’re right. She hates you for taking the spotlight from her, she’s Scrooge's favorite, not you.**

* * *

**Why do they even bring you along? You’re useless. You don’t deserve to be here, you don’t deserve to eat, you don’t deserve this kindness. Have you ever done anything good in you life? Have you ever been worthwhile?**

**You’re a burden. Everyone would be better off if you were dead.**

**Just accept that your life is meaningless and let me control you.**

**No one cares about you.**

**All you are is meaningless.**

**Give up.**

**Give up.**

**GIVE UP.**

_she's lying. don't let her get to you. if you give her an inch she'll take a mile._

* * *

“Uncle Scrooge?” Donald hesitates at his Uncle’s office door, he’s got a bloody knife in one hand and an ugly looking gouge taken out of his other, carefully stood so his hands are not is Scrooge's direct line of sight. He’s being careful not to spill blood on the carpets, and no matter how much Magica riots he won't let her take control of him now, he won't let her hurt his family.

He’s always had enough resolve to save them. He won't let her have them, no matter what.

“Oh no, not right now, lad.” Scrooge glares at him sternly, “After that stunt you pulled on our trip to greece, well, you can just keep whatever you want to say to yourself. Of all the idiotic things…” He squeezes his eyes shut and blows out a breath through his nostrils.

**He doesn’t care, don’t you get it? You’ve failed him one too many times, he doesn’t care, he hates you. He wants you to hurt. He hates you. He hates you.**

_ He hates me. _

WEAKNESS.

**LET ME IN. **

_ NO! _

“I was just wondering how long I was grounded for.” He hides his hand behind his back, holds the knife handle so tightly his knuckles turn white.

**LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN**

* * *

****He gets out of bed against his will. She takes him to the highest point in the west wing and prys open the window. He’s four stories up and it's a dry summer day. He turned fifteen last week and he’d spent it locked in his room sitting in the dark, overcome by a horrible headache, unable to celebrate. She’d taken it from him, the celebration.

Uncle Scrooge was convinced it was an act he was putting on because he was upset that he’d been grounded. He’d chewed him out through the door and Magica had forced him to hear every word even though it felt like jackhammers in his skull. Della had slid a card under his door signed _I love you._

**How could anyone love you?**

He’d torn it up and thrown it away.

But now he was here, Magica had forced his body up the stairs, had forced his fingernails to pry the window open even as it broke his nails, had forced him to haul himself up and out to the edge of the sill. She had him pitch forward, ever so slightly in his sitting position, so he could see the ground and feel the rush of lightheadedness at the sight but not enough to send him tumbling over the edge.

**Can you fly, Donald? **She’s asked with dark edged mirth, before releasing his body back into his control, settling back so he can struggle and cry as he crawls back inside the manor.

He looks down at the ground.

_ I give up _ . He shrugs a little, _ let's find out. _

The white hot surge of terror that stabs through his apathy is Magica, and she forces his arms to flail and grab onto the edge of the windowsill as he casually and carelessly tips himself over the edge. His arm jerks hard and his whimpers at the sharp pain but Magica doesn’t hesitate to force him to use his other hand to grab the window too, and pull himself up. She forces him to haul himself up and through the window, spilling all loose limbed and trembling into the hall, on his back.

Feeling returns to him slowly.

_ I am going to take you down with me _ he smiles.

* * *

“I hate you!” Gladstone spits, pushing Donald so hard his feet slip from underneath him and he lands hard into a puddle of mud. His head cracks against the pavement and he sees stars, shakily trying to push himself up even though his limbs feel loose and uncoordinated. Gladstones is still yelling, laying into him, saying things Donald already knows, _ something is wrong with you _ and _ you’re such a jackass _ and _ why are you such a freak _

He doesn’t even remember what he said to get Gladstone to this point, it doesn’t surprise him that he’s finally pushed too far, all he’s filled with these days is venom and pain and it bubbles up and explodes out of him when it shouldn’t and sometimes he can't keep swallowing it down.

“Well? Aren’t you going to apologize?” Gladstone snarls, hands on his hips.

**Well…** Magica is quieter now, but he doesn’t need her insidious voice to hurt him anymore. He’s got that covered just fine on his own. **Are you?**

He snorts from where he’s laying half in the mud and half on the sidewalk, “Fuck no.” He snaps and Gladstone’s eyes fill with tears, and he storms off without so much as a goodbye. Donald flips off his back as he walks away, dragging himself out of the mud so he can watch him go.

He’s never fought with Gladstone this bad before, it’s never gotten so emotional, so… personal.

**You’re pushing them away.**

He bares his teeth and his eyes are dry, _ Good._

* * *

_The only good thing iIll ever do is kill you. I'll do it on my own, and i'll finally be worth something then._

**you can't kill me without killing yourself too.**

Della touches his arm and he jerks out of her reach, scowling at her darkly as he pushes back his chair and stalks away and up to his room. He didn't eat a single thing off his dinner plate.

* * *

He sets his guitar on fire and watches it burn.

Magica is deathly quiet.

She raises his hand tentatively and he plunges it the rest of the way for her, into the fire.

(Shes the one who forces him to take it out.)

* * *

_I deserve this _ , he’s laying at the bottom of a cliff where he’d slipped, there’s a sharp rock hollowing out his organs, _ you deserve this._

**SCREAM!**

Della calls his name, and he’s just out of sight, she won’t find him here. Neither of them will. Not in time. Scrooge next, and he sounds stressed, panicked, scared. The longer his silence lasts the more Donald smiles.

“Over here!” Magica forces out of his mouth, right before he slips into darkness.

* * *

He find Uncle Scrooge’s gun when he's seventeen and Magica won’t let him press the barrel against his temple no matter how long he fights her.

**I was lying before, they love you, they care about you, can’t you see that?**

* * *

_AM I SCARING YOU?_

* * *

**STOP**

**THEY LOVE YOU**

**Let me in so I can stop you from killing yourself**

**Let me in**

**STOP**

she flushes the sleeping pills down the toilet with shaking hands.

* * *

**Will you let me go? Please? Please I want out I want out**

He stares blankly at the bay. It’s winter, and it’s frozen over for real this time, a thick sheet of ice on top of the water. It’s not thick enough to support the weight of a full grown duck. He stares down at the ice from the edge of the dock.

If he were to step onto the ice it would break under him, and he’d fall through. Its deeper here, at the edge of the dock, and if he fell he’s go under the ice and then he’d be trapped underneath it. He wouldn’t be able to get back out. Neither of them would.

**I don’t want to die.**

_ Tell me, witch _ , he raises his foot and steps out onto nothing, _ how long can you hold your breath? _

* * *

Uncle Scrooge claps donald on the back. He’s fourteen and eager to prove himself, He and his sister had helped their uncle seal away one of the most fearsome witches in the world- Donald had held her down while her entrapment spell bounced off Uncle Scrooge's old dime.

“She’s trapped in here for good!” Scrooge smiles, flipping the coin with a grin on his face.

In the back of Donalds mind, shadows shift.


End file.
